


All That Matters In The End

by WetSammyWinchester



Series: All That Matters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Family Secrets, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Minor Character Death, Organized Crime, Protective Dean Winchester, Raised Apart, Violence, Wincest Big Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8485762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: Sam Campbell knew violence. When your family ran one of the two most powerful crime families in the city, it was hard to get away from it. As a young law student, he tried to distance himself from the legacy of his grandfather and the Campbell family but when death and violence cross his path one night, he is forced to decide who he trusts, the family he grew up with or the son of rival crime boss, John Winchester. Over the course of one night in hiding, Sam and Dean grow close despite their families' differences, but one secret could blow apart their relationship before it even starts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to artist [deansbeerbottle](deansbeerbottle.tumblr.com) who is not only a fantastic artist and brought this fic to life but is hilarious and I'm so glad we got to know each other. Thanks to my beta, [anotherwinchesterfangirl](anotherwinchesterfangirl.tumblr.com), who has been there every step of the way on all my big bangs. She has no idea how much I appreciate her. Also, thanks to adoredean who took the time to work through ideas with me.
> 
> [Link to art masterpost](http://deansbeerbottle.deviantart.com/)

 

_Happy endings are bullshit, kid. That's what his grandfather said on more than one occasion. Life doesn't end up like that for people like us. You either stand up and take what you want, or someone else will take it from you._

 

The stars lit up the alley between the brick buildings where Sam was parked. It wasn't the best angle to see the sky, and the starlight was muted due to the lights of the city, but he was able to spot the W-shape of Cassiopeia, framed between two strips of old brick above his head. 

Cassiopeia was the first constellation that his uncle taught him as a boy. When he was young, the two of them spent hours talking about the stars and the stories behind each of the constellations. Bobby was a natural storyteller, his rough fingers circling over illustrations of gods and creatures in Sam’s picture books, and it filled his imagination with thoughts of a life not his own. Sometimes those stories were the only way to lull him to sleep without nightmares. 

Sam twisted his head to the left, looking further down from Cassiopeia to see Perseus and Andromeda, the lovers, and that made him smile. The adventures of Perseus were well known but Andromeda was only painted as a princess chained to a rock. Bobby said that there was more to the story - _there’s always more to the story, Sam, you just need to read between the lines._ She was a hero, too, according to his uncle, willing to offer herself as a sacrifice to save her people, and the two of them stood together shoulder-to-shoulder to create a family dynasty that lasted through the centuries.

All of the other Greek heroes had stories that end in tragedy and death, but not these two. They got their happy ending in the end. That was one of the things that his grandfather Samuel got wrong.

Sam shook his head. Tonight he needed to keep his mind on the job. Not on Samuel and not on the stars.

The weather was cool. Sam felt the chill of it in his bones, from the car fender he leaned against to the Taurus 9mm pressed into his back. Blowing on his hands for warmth and zipping his hoodie all the way up, he glanced once more toward the warehouse door where Bobby and Rufus disappeared earlier. 

The long minutes ticked by and Sam glanced at the law school textbooks he brought along, piled in the passenger seat. If the two older men took much longer inside, he would dig one out because nothing made time pass like reading about corporate litigation.

It had been a long day, starting in Palo Alto where Sam had finished his last exam more quickly than expected, and was able to catch an earlier flight home. He walked in the front door of the mansion, just as Bobby and Rufus were heading out to a last-minute meeting with one of their suppliers. After a quick hug, Bobby offered to take Sam out to eat later - pancakes at the diner to celebrate the end of exams - so Rufus dug a spare gun out of the safe. Sam checked the chamber as they headed out.

"I don't like it.” Rufus grumbled, folding his legs up to fit into the cramped back seat of Bobby's car. “Terms with Gino have already been set on this deal, so explain to me why the hell we are dragging ourselves across town for this. And next time, we take my car, Bobby. The back seat of this shit heap is as tight as a duck's ass."

Bobby threw a look over the front seat at his oldest friend. When he became head of the Campbell crime family after Samuel died, Bobby could have driven anything he wanted and yet, in the words of Rufus, he chose this high maintenance piece of classic American-made crap. 

Driving a restored classic Chevy wasn't the problem. It was Bobby's streak of sentimentality, his desire to hold on to a bit of the past, that worried some of his lieutenants. Ellen would roll her eyes fondly at him before turning back to the books scattered on her desk, while Gordon would simply ignore all of it before heading out to collect on bets. But Rufus couldn't leave it alone, like poking a bear with a stick. Hearing the two of them bicker like a married couple was one of the other good memories of Sam's childhood.

"Just shut up and get in the car, Rufus. Sooner we get this done, the sooner we eat. We don’t want our boy hungry. Right, Sam?" Bobby nodded in Sam's direction, but his friend wasn't done.

"My gut tells me this is bullshit, Bobby, and you know my gut is never wrong."

"And that's why I'm bringing you, Rufus. It sure ain't for your sparkling personality. Now, keep an eye out and shut the hell up."

Sam still had a fond smile on his lips thinking back on the conversation, when he heard voices in the alley coming towards him. The sounds were coming from around the corner and not from the loading bay doors where Bobby and Rufus had entered, so he pushed himself away from the car to get a better look.

"Dean, Dean, slow the fuck down. The bar is open until two. It'll still be there whether we walk or run."

Two men came around the corner, bumping shoulders and laughing. One was good looking, tall with dark blonde hair and green eyes and the other was short and balding with laugh lines around his eyes, gesturing with his hands while he talked. Both of the men looked up in surprise when they spotted Sam by the parked car. Their relaxed attitude disappeared as they assessed him, the taller man's eyes widened when he saw Sam's face while the shorter one reached into his jacket.

His eyes were drawn back to the first man, and Sam felt a tug of recognition. The feeling threw his reactions off, and he was reaching for the gun at his back too late when he heard Bobby and Rufus arguing as they burst through the swinging doors of the warehouse.

"I told you this was BS, Bobby. When are you gonna start listening to me? What the fuck did Gino really want cuz it didn't have to do with this deal. Shifty son of a bitch was wasting our time."

In the same moment that Bobby and Rufus noticed the two strangers standing in the alley with Sam, the roar of a loud engine caught their attention. A car barreled down the alleyway, black as night, spraying gravel as it skidded to a stop behind Bobby's car, blocking them in. A huge man jumped out of the passenger seat, and was just a shadow in the low light of the alley except for a painful scar that shined white across one of his eyebrows.

From his place in the shadows, Sam felt another case of dé·jà vu. He recognized the guy with the wild dark hair and beard and jagged scar, but couldn't place him and watched in panic as he pulled out a semi-automatic handgun and pointed it right at Rufus.

_BOOM._

The sound echoed like cannon shot in the entry bay of the warehouse and Sam turned away, ducking behind the car for protection. 

_BOOM_. A second shot. _BOOM. BOOM._ Two more shots. 

When Sam stuck his head back over the hood of the car, he saw the shooter looking down at the green-eyed man laying on the ground, who clutched his arm. Sam began to inch his way around the car when he heard the shooter laugh.

"Dean Winchester." Scar's voice was just as painful to hear as his face was to see. "What the fuck are you doing here? I expected to take out one or two of Bobby's guys but not John Winchester's boy. That's some seriously fucked up timing for you. Hey, maybe I'll get a bonus for taking you out. Oh yeah, definitely a big bonus from the boss."

Sam froze in place, not sure who he should be shooting - the asshole with a gun or the son of a Winchester.

Dean’s eyes were shiny with pain but there was no fear of dying in them. Not even looking down the barrel of a gun. He looked pissed as he considered the shooter. Then a smirk crossed his lips.

"I know you, don't I? But you’re not one of us, you're with the Campbells. Now, why the hell you shooting your own boss?"

"Fuck you, Winchester, it's none of your business. You'll be dead soon enough." 

The man was raising his gun again at Dean when Sam stepped out of the shadows and leveled his Taurus. Sam never chose violence if there was another way, but this guy shot Bobby and Rufus. He shot whoever these two other guys were. Sam didn't hesitate, firing one shot to the man's head and one to the heart, just like his grandfather taught him - two taps to be sure - and the dark-haired giant crumpled fast.

Behind them, the black car revved up and squealed backwards out of the alleyway. Sam ran after it, firing off shots that busted the back window and one of the red tail lights before the car disappeared around the corner. 

Turning back to the now silent warehouse bay, he ran to Bobby's side, skidding to a stop on his knees on the asphalt.

"Bobby, hey, hey, it's gonna be okay." He knelt down and gently took his uncle's head in his hands, stroking his hair and beard. 

Looking in the older man's eyes, Sam knew that nothing was going to be okay. His hand ran down the front of Bobby's shirt, feeling for the heartbeat that was no longer there. The gunshot had gone straight through Bobby’s chest, and he was probably dead before hitting the ground. 

Sam's anger burned white hot, drying away any tears that threatened to fall. Rufus had fallen in front of Bobby and even from a few feet away, Sam could see that a nasty head shot had done its work. 

In only a few minutes, Sam’s whole world had fallen apart. Bobby was the only family he had left, and now he was well and truly alone. 

He stood up and walked to the dead shooter's body laying on its stomach in the dirt and grime, the blood pooling below him reflected back the sliver of moonlight. Before he could stop himself, Sam began to brutally kick the body again and again before a voice interrupted.

"Hey, Sam. It's Sam, right? We need to get out of here, and we need to leave now."

Sam looked over at Dean, who stood pale faced and grasping his arm to stop the bleeding. Now he knew why the face was so familiar. This man, the son of John Winchester, represented all the grief his family had come to since he was a baby.

"And why the hell would I go anywhere with you? You and your fucking family probably arranged this." 

Sam's voice was stronger to his ears than he thought it would be, but there was still a little quiver at the end. Showing that kind of weakness would have brought about a painful lesson at the hand of his grandfather, Samuel.

"Use your brain, Campbell. We didn't do this - I wasn't even supposed to be here. And he shot Caleb." 

Sam's eyes went down to the body of the friend of his enemy. Caleb, Bobby, Rufus. All three were shot execution style in only a few minutes. Whoever the shooter was, he had been a professional.

"I will destroy these people," Sam said with his last burst of adrenaline, like the final shock blast of a bomb. 

Dean's eyes softened in sympathy. He walked over and laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I hear ya, kid. Listen, man, you saved my life a minute ago - now it's my turn. If we wait here any longer, that asshole will back with reinforcements or the police will show up. Either way, that's bad for the two of us. So, let's move."

Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and pulled him towards the car, more gently than the situation called for. Absently, Sam looked down at his wrist where it stuck out of the red hoodie, as if the hand belong to someone else. With the exaggerated clarity of grief, he looked at Dean's hand with its silver ring, so similar to one he had in a box at home. Memories of a long dead mother that he barely knew. Dean's thin, black leather bracelets were almost a matched set to the ones around his own wrists. It was a weird sense of connection, one that Sam chalked up to shock. 

Instinct told Sam to keep moving and that he should trust this guy. When Dean pushed him over to the passenger side door, he opened up the car door as if they had been doing this all their lives.

"You got keys to this?" Dean rapped his knuckles on the top of the car. "Caleb's ride is back a few blocks. We got no time to get it."

When Sam didn't answer right away, Dean snapped his fingers. “C’mon, kid.”

He dug the car keys out of his front pocket and tossed them over the trunk, where Dean caught them mid-air with one hand and grimaced at the motion, his wounded arm held against his stomach.

If they planned to get anywhere in one piece tonight, Sam should be the one driving, but he just didn't care. He didn't care if they were caught. Didn't care if they ran off the road. Didn't care because the last member of his family was dead. His mom, his grandfather, and now Bobby. He was the last Campbell standing.

Sam looked down at his textbooks stacked on the seat before pushing them onto the floor. He slammed the car door shut as Dean took off, the roar of the engine filling up the alley.

  



	2. Chapter 2

The headlights flashed ahead on red brick and uneven road as they drove down the back streets. Dean was silent and it gave Sam a chance to look him over, wondering if the man matched all the stories he heard growing up. 

Bobby always said that John Winchester was one of the smartest men he knew, but didn't trust him one bit. John and Dean were like just common criminals, his uncle would say after a few beers, the kind more likely to pick your pocket than extend a hand of kindness. Samuel had nothing but disdain for his biggest competitor, never failing to tell any partner or distributor about how he felt. It was like a broken record, that John Winchester had tried to ruin the Campbell family again and again. Other than drinking stories from old men, Sam didn’t know much more growing up, as he tried to distance himself from the family business.

Sam turned in the seat, bringing his knee up on the seat next to Dean, glancing back over his shoulder. He was waiting for sirens and the urgent flash of red and blue lights, something to signify the loss - the tragedy - back in that alley, but there was nothing but silence and darkness. 

"I need to make some phone calls.” He murmured, picking at a hole in his jeans. “Ellen and the rest of the family needs to know what happened." 

"No." 

Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist, pulling his hand away from the hole. Sam closed his eyes at the touch. Twice now, this man had reached out and touched him and it was only thing that felt alive and warm on this cold night. He wanted to lean into that warmth, feel its comfort. Which all-in-all was a fucked-up response to a fucked-up situation. He opened his eyes again and Dean was looking right at him. 

"Sorry. No calls. First, we get some place safe. I know a spot not too far from here."

Sam pulled his wrist away. "Last thing I need is a Winchester safe house."

"Not a safe house, kid. It's my place and no one knows about it, okay?"

"Not a kid, so stop calling me that. I'm 22, which makes me an adult - voting, drinking, the whole nine yards."

"Sorry. You know what? You’re right. The badass way you shot that guy down back there? That makes you pretty fucking grown up in anyone's book."

Dean smiled and Sam went silent. Guns were second nature in his house and growing up he saw plenty of violence first hand. Of course, being Samuel's only grandson meant that nobody ever laid a hand on him. The other kids kept far away from Sam, and Samuel preferred it that way.

Two summers ago, Sam tagged along with Bobby and Gordon to a meet-up with the Reilly family. A negotiation over distribution of a new drug that they developed, which sounded like some hyper-Ecstasy for the college kids. As the night progressed, Bobby didn't like what he was hearing about overdoses and addiction. Reilly touted that once the kids started using, they would keep coming back for more.

Bobby was a businessman and believed that whatever people did in their own home was their business. Drugs provided a good profit, but highly addictive drugs were a whole other animal. They wrecked families and got the community and the police fired up. The whole thing got under Bobby’s skin and he said he didn’t want the extra attention it would bring down on them. As he started to walk away from the negotiations, one of the more hot-headed Reillys took the rejection hard, pulling out his pistol to make a point. 

Within a minute, Gordon had the guy disarmed and laid out on the floor. Bobby’s lieutenant was like a machine that way, all cool military precision, and he would walk away once his point was made. That is he usually walked away. Not in this case. The idiot on the ground couldn’t let it be and made a slur about Gordon's sister. In a flash, Gordon started to kick and didn't stop until the man's face was a bloody red mess and he was rolled into a tight ball, crying for mercy. Bobby waved off Gordon, who finally stepped back, his calm mask falling back into place. 

That was an important moment for Sam. That kind of casual violence would never have a place in his life, and Sam pulled out his application for college that night.

Tonight changed all that. Samuel and Bobby prepared him, taught him how to defend himself, but that was far different from taking a life. While that asshole in the alleyway deserved it, it didn’t change the fact that he would never take a breath again and Sam was the reason. 

He searched himself for feelings of guilt, waiting for them to bubble up and overwhelm him, but that didn't happen. His conscience - the thing he was most sure of in this world - was now buried too deeply below black waters of rage and loss.

Dean glanced over his arm at Sam, his face lit by the dashboard lights. "I know you’re angry and want to do something about this. But you need to think. Whoever that guy was, his target was Bobby. And his partner that drove away? That guy's is out there somewhere, telling his people that you and I saw the whole thing. If they had balls enough to go after Bobby, trust me, they won't have a problem coming after the two of us. We lie low for a couple of hours and figure out who's behind this. Right?" 

Sullen and exhausted, Sam nodded and settled back against the seat. The familiar thrum of the engine left him boneless against the leather. He still didn't trust the man sitting next to him in the driver's seat, but felt protected enough to close his eyes. 

As he drifted into sleep, the last coherent thought he had was what a strange turnaround, that a Winchester would protect his life, not destroy it.

Within minutes, Sam was asleep, falling into a vivid dream of being in their house and of Samuel and his mother Mary. She was a beautiful vision, in her white dress and blond hair. In the dream, the house was burning, orange flames leaping up the curtains and walls and charred wooden beams falling to the floor around him. As smoke filled the air, he tried desperately to find a way to his mother, to rescue her from the inferno, but he was stopped by two arms holding him back and whispering the same thing in his ear over and over. 

"It's okay, son. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"Okay, Sleeping Beauty, time to get up."

A hand patted him on the chest and Sam bolted upright. The night was black, not smoky orange like his dream, and the air clear and cold. He was in Bobby's car, but Bobby wasn't driving. Dean Winchester was.

"Where are we?" Sam asked. They were parked in front of a small nondescript warehouse. Headlights didn’t flash on any open stores down the street and there wasn’t anyone walking along the sidewalks, so he guessed they were in some kind of industrial park.

"It's a garage and it's mine," Dean explained. More blood had flowed from the hole in his jacket, glistening dark against the black leather, and he was still cradling his hurt arm.

"We should go to a hospital for that. You're still bleeding."

"Just a through-and-through, nothing to worry about. You can help me patch it up inside. Stay here for a minute."

Sam squinted through the windshield again at the building, with its ten-foot-high rolling garage door and another entry door further down. No signs, no distinctive markings. Dean stepped out of the car, digging out a set of keys from his front pocket and flipped through them one by one. He disappeared inside the entry door and moments later the garage door started to roll up.

"Let's get her inside before someone sees us."

"Her?” Sam laughed. “God, you sound just like Bobby. It's just a car."

"Bobby always was a smart man. No, "it" is a she, and this baby is something special. She needs to be treated right." Dean slid into the driver's seat again and pulled the car through the entrance and then jumped out, hitting a red switch on the wall to close the garage door behind them.

Sam eased out of the car, not knowing what to expect. Another car was ahead of them in the bay, covered by a black tarp, and the surrounding shelves and pegboards held power tools, sanders, wrenches, and a number of other things that Sam couldn't begin to identify. The smell of oil hung in the air and the floors were swept clean of debris. Across the large open space, a lamp shone on what appeared to be a small living room with two old leather couches, a threadbare red carpet, and a large flat screen tv, and in the far back, a bare-bones office with desk and chair. Not glamorous and not what he expected, but kind of homey in its own way. 

Dean walked over to the office area and reached into a small refrigerator against the wall, pulling out two beers in one hand. As he walked back out, he gestured to one of the couches and held out a beer to Sam, setting the other down on a small table as he began to remove his jacket carefully.

"Are you naturally OCD?" Sam joked, gesturing around at the organized rows of tools with his beer bottle.

Dean stopped and looked as if trying to see the place for the first time through Sam's eyes. "I like things neat around the shop. It's not a crime to take care of the things you love."

He then grimaced as he tried to pull his injured arm out of his jacket.

"Wait, hold on a minute and let me help you," Sam said, rushing over to ease the jacket off the arm that had been shot. "That leather jacket is ruined. Looks like you're right about the wound, simple enough to deal with but it must hurt like a bitch. Why don't you sit down and let me get you cleaned up? Do you have a sink or a stove?"

Dean nodded behind Sam towards a small bathroom with a sink and a stall shower. As Sam entered, he saw a first aid kit on the wall and pulled it down. The kit, just like the shop, was well organized and pristine.

"I have to say you are not what I was expecting, Dean Winchester, and neither is this garage-slash-safe room-slash-man cave. I expected more wild bachelor pad, less DIY Network,” he shouted out the open door.

He could hear Dean moving around in the next room, and his grumpy voice carried into the bathroom where Sam sorted through the bandages and tape they needed. 

"Yeah, Caleb was the one who loved to hit the bars, and don’t get me wrong, I love to go out, but this place is the real me. Somewhere I can get away from people, you know, get away from the life. You must have something like that, right?"

"Yeah, it's called law school.” Sam laughed as the absurdity hit him. “Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing with my life if that’s my escape."

"You said it. I didn't." Dean started to pull his black Led Zeppelin t-shirt over his head and winced once again.

Sam stopped him, settling the other man down on the couch. "This is ridiculous. Just leave it alone and stay right here. You got anything strong to drink? Whisky would probably be better than that beer while I work on you."

"Great minds think alike," Dean said as he gestured to a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses on the little coffee table in front of them, that Dean must have pulled out while Sam was in the bathroom. "I think we both need a drink. You ever dress a bullet wound before?"

Sam scrunched up his forehead as he set the bandages next to the bottle. "Maybe you missed it before. Pre-law not pre-med. Anyone in the family gets hurt, Ellen is the one that patches them up. Rufus was stabbed once, and she had to put in 20 stitches. He didn't even get hurt on the job but in a stupid fight over a poker game. Bobby and Ellen were so pissed at him..." 

Sam's voice trailed off at the memory before he grabbed a pair of scissors from the kit and started to pull Dean's shirt away from his body, moving to cut from the bottom of it. 

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" Dean recoiled.

"Cutting this off you. Trust me, there is no way to wash the blood out of this shirt and you don't want to lift that shoulder up again." 

Dean scowled as Sam carefully pulled the black shirt out and cut up the side, peeling it away from the bloody wound. As he started to clean the wound, Sam found himself studying the slope of the other man's shoulder and following it up to the muscles in his slender neck and around to his jawline. There was about two days worth of scruff there that was probably rough to the touch.

Sam licked his lips as he finished dressing the messy wound with some gauze and wrapping the shoulder with a pressure bandage. "Not bad for pre-law, right? Now, where's that drink you promised me?" 

Dean poured them each two fingers of whisky. "To family" he said, handing Sam his glass and throwing his own back in one gulp.

"To family." Sam looked at the fluid in the glass and thought about how quickly his life changed in that one moment in the alley. If he wanted to escape his life before, these deaths and their consequences bound him to it now more than ever. He could feel the tears threaten to roll but somehow held them back, behind the gate of his lids and lashes. 

Grandpa Samuel would have been proud of his restraint. Then again, there was nothing Sam could do to make that man happy.

"Drink it," Dean nudged his elbow. "And quit thinking so loud. Nothing to be done about the rest of the world right now."

Dean's green eyes kept shifting back to Sam, scanning his face, probably wondering when he was going to have some kind of emotional breakdown. He gave him a hesitant smile, and Dean returned it in kind.

All those drunken stories about John and Dean didn't prepare him for this. This feeling of comfort, of familiarity, of two people fitting into place. His Dean was someone he wanted to get to know.

It took three gulps for Sam to get the rest of the alcohol down. He wasn't much of a drinker, so those few drinks combined with sitting in the semi-darkness across from a gorgeous man who was half naked, made Sam light headed and consider stupid things like kissing him.

Dean went back into the office, returning a few minutes later with a clean t-shirt, much to Sam's disappointment. He settled further into the couch, and found himself smelling the whisky that remained in his glass. It reminded him of Bobby once again and as if reading his mind, Dean refilled the glasses and picked up his own, holding it out in another toast. 

"To Bobby."

“Why toast to my uncle? Your dad went out of his way to hurt him again and again.”

"That wasn't always true," Dean said, taking a spot next to Sam on the beat-up couch. He propped his legs up on the coffee table before looking over at Sam. "Dad and Bobby were friendly when I was little. I'm surprised you don't remember that one time, all of us, hanging out and eating ice cream at Santori's."

Sam shook his head. John and Bobby friendly? He couldn't imagine. It was like pouring gasoline into a propane tank and lighting a match.

"Maybe you were too young. God, you were about five or six, so I musta been nine or ten at the time. Bobby brought you to meet us at the restaurant and while the two of them talked at a table, you and I got ice cream at the counter.” A big smile crossed Dean's face. “Jackie was behind the counter serving us, and he laughed so hard because you were having trouble sitting on those stools. You know, the red and chrome ones that would spin?”

Sam nodded. Everyone in the city knew Santori’s. One of those old-time family places, with white hexagon tiles on the floor and painted pressed tin on the ceiling.

“Well, your legs didn't reach the ground so I had to show you how to hold onto the counter to keep your balance. Then Jackie set this huge dish of mint chocolate chip ice cream in front of you and your eyes got so huge. The minute you grabbed that spoon, and let go of the counter, you spun right off the stool and landed on your butt on the floor. For a minute, I thought you were going to cry then you started laughing and climbed right back up. I had to hold onto your arm to keep you in place while you stuffed your face with that ice cream."

Dean chuckled at the memory while throwing back the rest of his drink. None of this rang a bell with Sam.

"Did we hang out often?" he asked. These were the kind of happy memories he wished his childhood was made up of.

Dean's smile dropped. "Naw, that was the last time I remember. But Bobby was a good guy. He always took the time to talk to me even when I was little, like I was a real person, you know? I remember that day so well because Dad wanted to convince Bobby of something and it cause a big fight. They started yelling at each other in front of the whole restaurant. Bobby grabbed you right off the stool in front of me and left. That was it. I never saw the two of them together again, and I didn't see you again in person until tonight in that alley. But I knew it was you right away by the eyes."

Sam blushed and looked away, before taking another sip of the whiskey. 

"Samuel always said my eyes made him think of changelings. You know, like the old fairy tales? He said it was like I was dropped into his family as baby and he was forced to raise me, while I ate him out of house and home."

"Wow, Samuel was an asshole."

He couldn't argue with that so the conversation hit a companionable lull as both men relaxed further into the soft couch.

"So, what's John like?" If the stories about Dean were wrong, Sam wondered about his dad.

Dean looked uncomfortable for a minute, as if just the act of talking about his dad was being disloyal to him, and Sam wondered how much alike their upbringings were, how much of a shadow John Winchester cast over his son’s life.

"My dad? He's smart. Driven. Charming when he likes you. Ruthless when he doesn't."

"I guess you don't get to where he is without that.” Sam said. “Samuel always called him an egotistical punk."

Dean smiled. "A punk, huh? Well, Dad hates controlling bastards, so I guess they were even." 

"Controlling? Oh, you have no idea." Sam settled back into the couch, loose limbed and relaxed from whiskey, his head lolling back against the cushion. "Samuel wasn't going to let me go to college, so Bobby helped me. Even qualified for a scholarship so I wouldn't have to take a dime of his money, but Samuel wasn't having any of it. You should have seen the two of them fight. Still can't figure it out what his problem was. He didn't want me around but he didn't want me to leave."

"I'll say it again. What an asshole. So, what happened? You obviously finished college if you're in law school now."

"Samuel died. I turned 18, and Bobby never had a problem with me leaving." He looked at the bottom of his empty glass as if the answers to why his grandfather hated him were lying there with his ice cubes.

Growing up, Sam lived in Samuel's house with his mother Mary and then after she died, his uncle moved in. As a small child, he was intimidated by his namesake, a muscular, bald man with a deep voice. Nothing he could do to please Samuel either. He got good grades, kept his head down, wasn't much for parties or drinking, and did whatever his grandfather asked. It wasn’t until he was a teenager that they started to butt heads over everything. Samuel's death during his senior year in high school came as nothing but a relief.

"Huh. Good timing for you that he died." Dean’s glass was halfway to his lips when he saw the flash of guilt across Sam's face. "Hey, sorry, that was uncalled for. Especially tonight. Family is family." 

He tipped the Jim Beam bottle at Sam, then wiggled it for approval for the next round. Sam should be making calls, taking care of business, but he was exhausted and nodded at Dean, who eagerly filled both glasses once again.

Sam picked his up and finished Dean's original toast. "To Bobby."

When Dean sat back again, he moved a little closer to Sam, placing his arm along the back of the couch with his eyes focused on Sam's face. "So, what’s it like in law school?"

"A lot of reading." Dean rolled his eyes at that response but Sam went on. "I like it though, the structure of the law, researching cases. I like the idea of helping people, protecting people who can't protect themselves, and to live in a world where there are rules and they apply to everyone. Not a place filled with random violence."

Dean shrugged. "Or not so random violence in this case. It is what it is, in the end. Loyalty is important. I like knowing that my family has my back, no matter what."

"Yeah, but most families do that without four people dead in an alleyway."

In the low light, Dean studied Sam’s face intensely, which was flushed from the alcohol. He didn't respond, but instead moved his hand down to play with a stray brown curl at the back of Sam's neck. It was odd how gentle that touch was. His brain knew that being here with Dean was like being invited into a lion’s den, but his body didn't seem to get the message that he should be afraid.

"I can see it - you dressed in a blue suit with white shirt and tie in front of a courtroom. Everyone's eyes would be on you." Dean's voice was soft, and his hand moved from the back of Sam's head with his thumb rubbing gently on the jawline underneath Sam's ear, like Sam was some kind of wild horse about to bolt.

Sam wasn’t a virgin by any stretch but he also didn't have a lot of relationships, male or female. There wasn't much time for them between his studies and his family obligations. His grandfather would have said Sam was naive, used to tease him about waiting for the perfect person to come along. Truth is that he never felt the right connection with someone. 

Yet this small conversation and one touch from Dean was more than he had felt for anybody he dated. Maybe he was waiting for the right somebody to come along.

He closed his eyes and felt Dean's thumb move along his cheekbone, and then slowly stroke along Sam's bottom lip. The light pressure was a tease, until Dean pushed it in between his lips, just a little bit, as if testing how far he could take it. All he wanted was for Dean to slip it in his mouth, move it along his tongue and let him suck on it, but then the pressure was gone. 

Sam opened his eyes to find Dean looking down at him with a question in his expression. Sam didn't wait to hear it but instead bridged the short distance between them and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Dean pushed into the kiss and Sam melted back into the cushions. His hands were splayed out, not finding anything to grip on the soft leather. As Dean's tongue pushed into his mouth, Sam felt light-headed and untethered, and not all of it was from the alcohol. He felt himself drawn inevitably towards this man, like the gravity of a black hole, and he was standing dangerously close to the edge and deciding whether to step away or fall into its depths. 

Sam fell. After all, he had nothing left to lose.

He opened his legs up when Dean’s knee pushed in between. Dean was such a solid wall of muscle that all that weight on top of him, that feeling of surrender, giving up power to someone else, sent a pulse up to his cock. He ran his hand down Dean's thigh, where the denim was rough to the touch, and pulled his leg in closer, up against his balls, moaning as he had to spread his legs further to make room for him there. Sam’s hands were skating aimlessly over Dean's chest until they found a home gripping his shoulders.

When the kiss was broken, Sam was out of breath, yet he chased after Dean's mouth, saying his name softly. The loss and shock created a huge hole in his chest, a place that he didn't want to examine but needed to be soothed. All he wanted to fill the hole with Dean, to have him seal up all of his hurt with wet lips and to heal every crack in Sam’s grief with his fingertips.

Dean pulled back and stood up, yanking off his t-shirt. The small lamp on the table cast shadows across his chest and abs, with half his face in darkness. The strength of Dean's body, how it could make him take whatever was given, was exactly what Sam wanted right then. No thinking, no tears, just turning himself over to someone else.

Dean reached down to pull open a drawer from the nightstand, coming up with a silver foil-wrapped condom and lube in his fingers.

Sam giggled. “Wait, let’s go back to your whole speech about how you never bring people back here. You're so full of shit.”

“Or maybe I'm just a Boy Scout who's always prepared.” He dropped his jeans and shorts to the ground with a cocky grin, wearing nothing but the black leather bracelets Sam noticed earlier.

Sitting up, he pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it aside. When he started to take off his jeans, Dean pushed him back on the couch, a firm hand in the middle of his chest. Sam relaxed and went with it, closing his eyes as he felt Dean's fingers unbuttoning and tugging gently on the pant legs until they pulled free.

Dean crawled back up the couch between Sam's legs, bumping cocks and pushing Sam's legs higher, and then he paused to take Sam's wrist in his hand. His eyes and lips grazed the leather bracelets hanging there.

“It's gonna be okay. Let me take care of you.”

Dean slipped his hand down to grip the back of Sam's neck, slipping his hands into the long hair there. This time, their kiss was soft and wet. At some point, both men needed to come up for air but were fighting it as if one more second where their lips were together would change the world. 

Sam let out a gasp when it ended. “Don't stop.”

Dean nuzzled into his neck, finding that spot under his jaw, the one that made Sam squirm. His hands clenched and unclenched around Dean's shoulders. He was wondering if he could come just from his lips on his skin, when Dean broke it off and pulled back. 

“I want inside you. I want to fuck you.” 

Sam was having trouble finding the words but nodded. He had been with guys before but never felt this kind of urgency, this need to be wrecked. Even freshmen year at school, when everyone was searching for their next hookup, testing their freedom away from home, Sam would rather study at the library or curl up with a book. He never found someone who made him desperate, not like this man.

A single, slicked up finger slowly entered him. Dean moved it in and out, watching Sam’s face, until he opened legs wider and moved his hips up to increase the friction.

“More. I need more now. You're not gonna hurt me.”

That was all Dean needed to hear. Two fingers became three, which became Dean's cock nudging at his entrance. Sam's body was practically folded over, his knees resting on his shoulders, and Dean sank in slowly, letting him feel it inch by inch. When he was all the way in, they were so tightly connected that Sam could feel Dean's heartbeat through his cock.

Dean leaned in, kissing his lips. “I will always take care of you, okay?”

As he pulled back out again, he took hold of Sam's cock with his slick fingers and began to work it in time with his own thrusts. 

Small noises in the back of Sam's throat became more urgent, and Dean seemed intent on punching them out of him until Sam finally choked up with his orgasm, coming hot and white over his belly. Dean's hands moved down to Sam's thighs, pushing them even further apart, as Dean came.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke up with soft sunlight on his face and the vivid details of his dream still in his mind. He had it every few months and unlike the one with the fire, this one comforted him. His mother was still alive, and she was so beautiful. Mary leaned down to hug him, and his face was pressed against her neck, blond hair tickling his nose. She kept reassuring him that Sam’s father was waiting for them, that he wanted to be with them, that they would see him in just a few hours. When Sam pulled back from the hug, his mom would smile down at him, pushing the tangle of his bangs back from his forehead. Then Sam would wake up.

As he blinked his eyes a few more times, the warm feelings from that dream flushed away and memories of last night flooded in to take their place. Bobby and Rufus were gone. He rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to reconcile what happened last night to the feelings he had this morning.

He pushed away an old plaid blanket that had been laid over him and began to look around for Dean. A note was left on the side table that read, "Be back soon with breakfast. Don't leave." 

Was that a demand or a request? Sam wasn't sure. The person he was with last night was not what he expected.

Sam eyed his cell phone where it sat on the table next to the note. He could wait for Dean but that didn't mean he was just going to sit around doing nothing. Punching in #2 on speed dial, he waited as the other end rang.

"Sam, Sam - is that you?" Ellen's frantic voice came through the line. "Where are you, boy? We were so worried when we couldn't get a hold of you. Something awful happened last night."

"I know. I was there, Ellen, with Bobby and Rufus.”

“What do you mean you were with them? I thought you weren't supposed to be home until today.” She paused. “Are you okay?”

“I'm okay. Really.” Sam reassured her. “Just laying low for a little bit."

"Laying low? Tell me exactly what happened, Sam. It was the Winchesters, wasn't it? We heard Caleb was killed too, so it had to be. Fucking John Winchester - I'm going to kill him with my own hands." Ellen was a force of nature. She might be smaller in size than all the men she worked with, but she was twice as tough.

"Ellen, I was there and it wasn't the Winchesters." He wasn't sure how to tell her Dean's theory, that the hit came from inside the Campbell family. "The shooter looked familiar to me. Dean said he recognized him as well."

"Dean? Dean was there too? Of course, he was. Caleb and Dean were always tied together at the hip." 

She paused, and then asked, "Sam, where are you right now, sweetie? Let me know and we’ll come get you. I’ll drive there myself to pick you up and bring you home."

Without Bobby, there was no home for him. And while there was nothing he wanted more than to see Ellen, or if she was in danger, be there to protect her, Dean was right. If this was some kind of coup in the Campbell family, Ellen would be right in the middle of it whether she knew it or not.

"Are you with Dean right now? Listen to me, Sam. If he say anything to you about Mary or Bobby, it means nothing. That family wants nothing more than our pain and suffering. Walk away, right now." 

Mention of his mother brought him up short, his gut churning at something that he couldn’t understand. "Ellen, the shooter - the other dead guy in the alley - he might be one of ours. Did you figure out who he was yet?"

At that moment, the outside door opened and Dean removed his key from the lock with one hand, juggling a paper bag with the other. His eyes met Sam's and then dropped like a stone to the phone in his hands.

"I have to go, Ellen. I'll call you back soon." He cut off Ellen's colorful response.

"Well, that didn't take long.” Dean sneered as he threw the bag onto the small table in the center of the room. “I was gone for 20 minutes, and already you're doing what we agreed you wouldn't do. So, are they are their way right now?" 

"First, you and I didn't agree to anything. Second, I didn't tell her where we are. I wanted to talk to you first, but needed to let them know I was alright. Especially Ellen. You gotta understand that - she’s all I have left.”

Dean turned back to the bag and began to pull out white styrofoam boxes as the smell of sausages and cinnamon filled the air. "Yeah, well, she could be part of it, but do what you want. That's what the Campbells do."

Sam approached the table cautiously. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean. I'm staying here with you until we figure this out. For Bobby and Rufus. For Caleb."

The other man looked up at the mention of his friend's name. The hostility in his eyes was hard as steel as he considered Sam, but softened as Sam gave him the eyes that always got him an extra piece of cake from Ellen. Dean held out one of the styrofoam boxes.

"What are these, pancakes?" Sam deflected with a smile, reaching for it and a packet of plastic silverware.

"Blueberry pancakes from the diner down the street. And homemade pecan butter. They also make their own sausage which is unbelievable." 

Dean's enthusiasm about food transcended their argument and they both sat down at the table.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Sam studied Dean's face in the muted morning light coming in through the skylights of the garage. He looked young and happy, and Sam could imagine the two of them back at Santori's, laughing and eating ice cream together. What would it have been like to grow up with a friend or an older brother? Someone to be yourself around, who had your back, to tell all your secrets to?

"So, what’s our next step?” Sam asked, getting back to business. “How do we track down the bastard behind this? Based on Ellen's reaction, it sounds like our families are already at each other's throats. Maybe that was the shooter’s intent in the first place? To weaken both families? Set us against each other?"

Dean shook his head and waved his fork with a piece of pancake speared on the end. "No, I don't believe that. The guy had no idea that Caleb and I would be there. You heard him. It was a bonus to shoot us. Bobby was the real target."

Yeah, that was true but Sam still had trouble getting his arms around the idea. Bobby was the head of the family, sure, but he wasn’t as vicious as Samuel was in running the business. He was crotchety and blunt, but he earned people's respect and wasn't aggressively expanding territory and stepping on any toes.

"Okay, but Bobby? I can't see anyone with enough reason to take him out. Except your father, of course. If anything, he was backing off things in the last year, focusing on the family's legitimate businesses. He was reworking some deals and that was gonna make some of his distributors extremely happy, handing them more control and profit. Seems like this is personal, not business, which brings me back to your father."

Dean looked at Sam, chewing on his pancakes and his next words. "If my dad wanted to take out Bobby, he wouldn't have done it in a dark alley, by the hand of some second-hand flunkie. He would have stormed the steps to your house and done it himself. Back up a minute, you said that Bobby was focusing on legitimate businesses. Does that mean he was thinking about getting out?"

Sam shrugged. "If he was, he didn't tell me in so many words. Bobby could be kinda cryptic."

As Dean picked up their containers and dumped them into the trash. "Starting to pull away from the business? That probably didn't make some people too happy in the Campbell camp."

Mentally, Sam flicked through key players in the family. Ellen was loyal to Bobby, no matter what, and she managed many of the legit businesses for him. Gordon was pissed when Bobby dismissed some recent deals he brought in, but he’d been raised in the family ever since Samuel brought him in as a skinny teenaged orphan. Gordon wanted to belong to something bigger and more powerful and Samuel Campbell gave him that so there was a lot of family loyalty. He rewarded the kid’s relentless focus and willingness to do what needed to be done by giving him a high-ranking position in the family, managing all their collections. Gordon and Sam never got along, and might never get along, but he couldn't imagine a guy with that much loyalty killing Bobby. 

That left his cousins, Christian, Mark, and Gwen. Mark and Gwen were content to follow orders, with Mark handling their Canadian connections up north and Gwen running the operations at the docks. That left Christian. His cousin had a lot of ambition and attitude, pushing Bobby for more involvement in decision making, and he certainly didn't mind getting his hands dirty. Would he have gone so far as to take Bobby out to head up the family?

Thoughts of betrayal had Sam spiraling down again. He needed some time to get his head together. "Does the shower in that little bathroom work?" 

"Yeah, it does. Why don't you go ahead and clean up? I have some business to do and then we'll figure out next steps together." Dean hesitated for a moment as if there was something more to say but then ducked his head and walked into the office.

Sam stepped inside the bathroom. For someone his size, it was cramped and he only needed to take one step before he could reached inside the shower stall, cranking on the faucet handles. As he sat on the toilet tank, stripping off his shoes and socks, he realized that he only had the clothes on his back and that they would need to stop by his place to pick some up. He walked out of the bathroom in his bare feet, to tell Dean about the stop and then remembered that Dean had clean t-shirts in the office, and thought he could probably use one, even if it were a little small. 

He was almost outside the office door when he heard Dean's voice, speaking in angry, hushed tones with someone on the phone.

"Dad, no way. We shouldn't trust him. You know how the Campbells are - they're a bunch of liars and cheats - and this guy is no different. He may be extending a hand in friendship to us, but you know he has a gun behind his back waiting to take us down. And don't forget about Caleb. Caleb is dead thanks to somebody in the Campbell family. I say, we meet with him and then make him tell us everything about their operation."

Sam stopped, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. Is that what Dean thought about him? Was what happened last night just a sham and all of Dean's pretty words meant nothing. They were only meant to keep him in place until he could bring in reinforcements. Take advantage of what happened last night and eliminate the rest of the Campbell family. That sounded more like a Winchester plan.

And now, Dean had a good story to tell everyone about how he fucked the last remaining Campbell before taking him out.

Sam pulled back into the bathroom and pulled his cell out of his pants pocket, typing in an address. A reply text came back with an ETA of 20 minutes and he nodded to himself. He had to wait, so locking himself in the bathroom and having a shower wouldn’t tip Dean off that he knew. It also meant Sam wouldn't have to face Dean and risk having the pain in his heart, deep as a knife wound, on display across his face.

As Sam emerged from the shower, he heard the crash from the other room. He threw his old clothes on quickly, realizing too late that his gun was still sitting on the side table next to the couch.

It was quiet in the garage, as he cracked open the bathroom door. Scanning the room, he saw movement behind one of the couches over by Dean's work bench, where a man stood up, his broad back to Sam. When he lunged for his gun, the man turned around and Sam straightened up in surprise.

"Gordon, what are you doing here?” he hissed. “I thought you were going to wait for me outside in the car."

"Change of plans, Sammy." It was then that he saw Dean's body slumped over as Gordon propped him up and yanked his wrists behind one of the support posts in the garage.

"What the fuck, Gordon? There was no need for this.” Sam looked at how Dean’s head hung limp, chin resting on his chest, one of his legs twisted under the other, and part of him wanted to reach out and help him to his feet. Maybe Dean didn't trust him, but Sam didn’t want to see him hurt. “C’mon, let's just get out of here and not make matters worse than they are." 

"Sammy. Always running your mouth off. So, here's the deal. You don't give me orders any more," Gordon said, walking back across the room to where Sam stood. 

Gordon was shorter but muscular and quick like a tiger. He snaked his hand out and grabbed Sam's hair at the back of his head and gave it a hard yank downwards, knocking the younger man off balance and driving him to his knees.

The pain in his scalp made Sam's eyes water and he reached up his hands to dislodge Gordon's fingers, but only succeeded in grabbing onto his wrist to relieve the pressure.

"Gordon, what are you doing? Let go!" Sam gritted out between clenched teeth as Gordon swung him around and drug him over to the kitchen table where the remains of his pancake breakfast with Dean still sat. Gordon yanked him up and forward so he landed on his stomach on top of the table. Sam started to get his feet back under him and push off the table, but Gordon leveraged his hold to slam Sam’s head down on the formica. Sam blacked out for a second, coming back to consciousness with his vision filled with white stars and his ears filled with the enforcer’s voice. Gordon’s hand still wrapped tightly in Sam's hair and pulled his neck back uncomfortably so that they could make eye contact.

"You are my problem, Sammy. You’ve always been my problem. Hell, if it wasn't for you, Bobby and Samuel would both be alive. You're like a cancer eating away at everything I’ve built." While Gordon's words were harsh, his tone was calm and soothing, as if Sam were nothing more than a child that needed to be reassured.

"What you're talking about?" Sam's words were slurred and his vision doubled. Maybe he wasn't hearing the words right because how was Sam responsible for Bobby's death? And Samuel died of a heart attack. He had nothing to do with that. None of this made any sense.

Gordon leaned in, resting his bulk on the top of Sam’s back, pinning him to the table. "Because of you, Bobby put everything on hold. He started shutting down operations. He wanted to go straight. Can you imagine? After everything that Samuel did to build the Campbells up, all it took was a few short years to start bringing it down. It was a joke. And guess what, he was doing it all for you. Distancing you from the family business, giving you a chance to be normal. All for some pissant boy that could never follow orders, who didn't appreciate anything his grandfather did."

Sam was held firmly in place, unable to push up away from the table, and he knew that if he didn't get out from under Gordon soon, he would pass out again. But now that Gordon started talking, the man seemed unable to stop and Sam had no choice but to listen.

"You know that Samuel didn't die from a heart attack? You’re not that stupid, are you? That was just the story Bobby told. The great Samuel Campbell was shot down in his own house. Bobby only told the truth to me and to Ellen one night when he was drunk, how your mom wanted to leave, to take you with her. Samuel pushed her, and she broke her neck on the stairs. Probably the dumbest thing he ever did, not letting that slut leave with her brat.”

Sam's anger rose up in him like a wave. His memories of his mom were probably more imagination than fact, but they were precious to him, something unsullied that he clung to while growing up under the same roof as Samuel.

Gordon continued, in that placid tone of his as if reciting a Sunday school story instead of the tragedies of Sam’s life. “And Bobby couldn’t just let it be, let Samuel deal with you. No, he had to shoot the man down when he threatened to deal with you. Bobby always had a soft spot for strays, and look where that got him.”

Tears from the pain in his scalp and in his heart spilled on the table. Sam pulled his leg under the table as far it would go and then slammed his heel into Gordon's knee. Gordon grunted in pain and staggered back, letting go of Sam.

As Sam whirled around, he came face to face with the muzzle of Gordon's gun.

"You little prick. You had to come home a day earlier, didn't you? I was going to let you slink off back to college and live the unimportant little life you seem to want. That would have been so easy." Despite the anger of his words, Gordon smiled. “But easy was never my style. And someone like you, pretending to be better than all of us? I think I’m going to enjoy killing you more than having Bobby killed.”

That pushed Sam over the edge. "Bobby respected you - he trusted you. And this is what you do with that trust? Kill him and feel nothing? You are one heartless bastard."

"I'm the only one protecting this family, taking care of it. You are the one killing it, Sam. You're corrosive - you ate away at Bobby and now you'll eat away at the rest of them. And all those ideals you cling to? This is the real world, and in the real world, only the strong survive." Sam heard the click as Gordon chambered a round. 

Sam closed his eyes, knowing that this was it. But when the gunshot sounded, he felt blood spray hit his face. The lack of pain made him open his eyes, and he saw Dean standing over Gordon's dead body on the floor, gun in hand.

"God, that guy likes to talk.” Dean wiped his mouth across his sleeve. “But he’s right about one thing. Only the strong survive. Adios, motherfucker." 

Sam dabbed at the blood running down his forehead and cheek with the tail of his t-shirt, and grimaced at the sharp pain from the bruise on his forehead as he touched it. Another bout of vertigo hit him and he gripped the edge of the table as he sat down.

"Are you alright?" Dean said as he reached out for Sam. “That’s probably a concussion.”

Sam pulled back from the extended hand and turned his head away. If there was anything he learned in the past twelve hours, it was that he shouldn’t trust anyone. 

"We need to get somewhere safe. Gordon may have friends outside or on their way. Gather your stuff and let's go." Dean stuffed the gun into his back waistband and went to grab his wallet and jacket. "We'll head to my dad's house. That is the best option at this point."

"No, I'm not going with you, and I'm not going to your father's," Sam said. As he pushed back from the table, the dizziness returned, and Dean's strong hands wrapped around his biceps, holding him up.

"Sam, you're in no condition to go anywhere. If that bastard was behind the hit on Bobby, then you can't trust anyone on your side." Dean bent down to look under the fringe of Sam's hair and catch his eyes. "It's alright. I'll look out for you."

"No, you're right. I can't trust anyone, and that includes you and your father. I heard you, Dean. I heard you earlier when you were talking to him on the phone earlier. You don't trust me at all. All the Campbells are liars and cheats, right?" Sam pulled away from Dean’s grip and retrieved his gun from the side table. For once, the weight of it in his hand felt good.

Dean shook his head. "That’s not it at all, Sam. Gordon called my dad after Bobby's death to talk about a partnership between the families, about ending the feud. He’s the one I told my dad not to trust, not you, Sam. God, I knew Gordon was a lying douchebag but didn't expect that he took the hit out on Bobby."

Sam laughed bitterly. Last night, he lost everything and didn't expect it could get any worse. But what about the rest of the family? Were Ellen or Gwen or Christian involved? He was well and truly alone in this, unless he decided to trust Dean again. Put his life in their hands. Twelve hours ago, that would have been insane, but this was a new day.

Dean’s phone buzzed on the end table and he picked it up to look at a text message. He bit his lip while reading the screen and finally looked up at Sam. “It’s my dad. He wants to meet you."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean spent the drive talking to someone on his crew who was going to take care of Gordon's body. His instructions were to hang the body off the end of the pier tonight. If anyone else was part of Gordon's plan, the public disposal of his body would send a message to stand down.

He leaned across the car to dig a bottle of aspirin out of his glove compartment, waving them at Sam until he took hold of it. "When we get to the apartment, I'll have Chris looked at your head. Could be a concussion. We can’t be too careful." Dean took his hand off the wheel to move Sam’s bangs to the side for a better look.

Sam pulled away. "Keep your hands on the wheel. It won't matter if I have a concussion if we run into a telephone pole."

By the time they pulled into John's building, the aspirin helped his headache somewhat and the bruise on his forehead ached a little less. Sam wondered what was waiting for him at John Winchester’s. 

"So, John wants to meet with me. Why?”

"You saved my life last night, remember? Trust me, my dad is all about actions not words. What you’ve done should be enough to override any problems he has with your last name." The cocky smile was back, and Sam couldn’t help but return it with dimples of his own.

"Yeah, but what does he expect me to do?”

The idea that John had requested his presence sat like a stone in his stomach. The man would probably push Sam to make a deal with him. A deal with the Winchesters probably wasn’t the worst idea right now. Sam wanted nothing to do with the family anymore, so as long as people like Ellen or Gwen were taken care of, it could be a good thing. Provided of course, that John never figured out what Sam and Dean had gotten up to last night.

The large metal garage door opened and Dean pulled forward. A large man in a bad suit and a butch haircut stepped over, glancing over Bobby’s car before waving them forward. 

The elevator ride up was quiet. Sam felt his gun resting heavy in his hand at the bottom of his hoodie pocket. The cool metal was reassuring in his palm as they rose up to the penthouse level.

There was a quiet ding as the elevator doors parted. After the dingy alley and Dean's garage last night, John Winchester's apartment was not what Sam expected. While it had the exposed brick walls that many of the old neighborhood buildings had, this space was luxurious with leather furniture and thick, deep red Oriental rugs across polished hardwood floors. Modern floor-to-ceiling windows looked out at the city skyline and the harbor beyond. 

"Is he here?" Dean asked another man who was seated at the kitchen island, reading a book. The man shook his head negatively and looked Sam up and down with heavily lidded eyes as the boys walked through. 

Dean stopped at a huge stainless steel refrigerator and reached in for a couple of bottles of water, before he turned back to Sam. "C'mon. Let's put you in the guest room down the hall."

"Where is your room?" Sam asked, curious as to how Dean fit into this place. He was at home in the garage, which felt like more of a home than this place. Everything was the best quality throughout the apartment but nothing was personal. No wonder Dean didn't spend a lot of time here.

"You want to see my room, huh?” Dean winked at Sam, bumping shoulders as they walked down the hall. “Maybe we could fool around a little before my dad gets home." 

Sam glanced uneasily back at the kitchen and the bodyguard there and thought about the armed guard down in the parking garage. They must know that Sam was a Campbell. Holing up here for his safety seemed like a good idea on the drive over but now it felt like riding out a storm in a cave full of rattlesnakes.

Dean swung a bedroom door open and motioned Sam inside. "Why don't we just take it easy for a while?"

He looked around the room, which was comfortable and decorated in blues and greys. He sat on the edge of the bed, playing with the black bracelets dangling on his wrist. "I want to call Ellen."

Dean's face clouded over at her name. "C'mon, Sam. It's pretty obvious that she is in on all of this right beside Gordon."

"First of all, if she is, what's she going to do about it? This place is more secure than the White House. Second, I don't think she is in on Gordon's plan. And... she's all I have left." He turned his pleading eyes up to Dean's face.

"Don't look at me like that. You can call her but I stay in the room when you do, and you don't tell her where you are. If she's involved in any of this, I'll kill her myself. Make a matched set of corpses with Gordon."

Sam grimaced at the thought and pulled out his phone, pressing the speed dial. He didn't have long to wait before she picked up.

"Sam, honey, what's going on? Where are you?" Hearing her low distinctive voice comforted him but he had to share more bad news.

"I'm fine. Gordon is dead."

Silence followed for two heartbeats, and then Ellen asked, "Are you, okay? Where are you? Let me come get you now."

"No, that's not necessary, Ellen."

"Enough, Sam. I'm not leaving you on your own. Something big is obviously going down and you’re in the middle of it."

Sam worried his bottom lip. Lying to Ellen wasn't something easily done. When he was five, she was the one who held him when he cried for his mother. When he was eight, she found him when tried to run away from his grandfather. When he was twelve, she was the one that told him about sex and he asked her about boys. Ellen didn't sugar coat the truth and could be scary as hell, but she was always there for Sam.

"It's okay, Ellen. I'm at John Winchester's right now so I'm safe. It was Gordon. He set this all in motion. He's the one that killed Bobby and Rufus." 

"Wait, you're at his house? Sam, I know John Winchester. You can't trust what he says to you, do you understand me? Wait for me. I'm be over as soon as I can and we can talk..."

Dean leaped across the room and grabbed the phone out of Sam's hand punching the end button.

"What the hell, Sam? I said not to tell her where you are."

He flashed a look at Dean, his eyes wet from unshed tears and as dark as the hole in his heart. "You don't know her but I know I can trust her."

"Like you trusted Gordon?" Dean ran a hand through his hair, frustration vibrating off of him. "Sam, I get that we don't know each other all that well yet. But just let me handle this, okay?"

Sam fell back on the down comforter, wrestling with this feeling of uncertainty, and his eyes roamed the ceiling, as if searching for some answer there on the skim-coated plaster. It was newly done, a brilliant white without any cracks, and beautiful workmanship like everything else in the house. But Sam knew that wouldn't last. When you patched up old buildings with a fresh coat of paint, the cracks came back no matter what.

He sensed Dean standing over him, before he felt his hands on his thighs. “Not trying to hurt you by saying these things. It gets me so angry to think about people who should have protected you and instead are hunting you down.”

The hands moved from his thighs to settle on his waist for a moment, moving their way underneath his t-shirt to touch the bare skin there. Sam craved Dean's touch but this wasn’t the time. It certainly wasn't the place.

“Dean…”

Dean pushed the t-shirt higher, smoothing his hands along Sam's abdomen before resting them on his hips and tucking his fingers underneath the waist of his jeans. Dean then leaned in and kissed the spot right above the hip bones, before beginning to suckle in, causing a mark. Fuck, if Dean couldn’t find every single one of the spots on Sam’s body that made him crazy. Sam groaned as the soft lips sucked one more time and brought a bright spot of pain.

“Shit, Dean.”

Dean lifted his head, pink lips flushed and wet, his voice already wrecked. “I want to help you feel better, Sammy.” 

At the nickname, Sam met his eyes and realized he was lost. This man had moved into his heart, and whether than was because Sam had no one or because they fit together like two puzzle pieces, it didn’t matter. Dean’s sly grin stole across his face, the one that Sam didn't think he'd be able to ever resist.

Dean unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down before taking the tip of Sam’s cock in his mouth. Sam wanted to buck up into those lips and moan, but thinking of the bodyguards down the hall, he squirmed and panted at the sensation. He felt Dean’s low laugh around his cock.

“You trying to keep quiet, Sammy? Think you can? Bet I can get you to shout my name so everybody in the house can hear. You know, I don’t care. Let them hear.”

Dean held his hips flat against the bed and began to move up and down the shaft, his tongue swirling around the head each time he pulled out, and his fingers digged into the soft flesh of Sam’s thighs. He pulled one hand up, fingers wrapped around Sam’s length, chasing the trail of his lips and squeezing with a building pressure..

Sam muffled his cry against his arm as he came. He pushed Dean off and the other man stood up, momentarily confused until Sam dropped to his knees in front of him, hands at his belt buckle.

“Now, let’s see who makes the most noise.” He smiled up at Dean, who looked down and began to run his fingers through Sam’s hair. In that moment, Sam could see being with this person for the rest of his life and trusting someone to be there for him. 

A loud knock came from the bedroom door and they both froze in place.

“Dean.” A deep voice floated through the door. “John wants to see you right now.”


	5. Chapter 5

As they pulled themselves together, Sam’s gut began to twist. John’s request brought back anxious memories of being summoned by his grandfather as a child. It was never a good thing, having to speak with Samuel, but at least he knew what to expect from his grandfather.

Despite Dean's memory of them meeting, John Winchester was a mystery to Sam, one that had hung over most of his life in one way or another. Most of the stories about Dean hadn’t been true, so what could he expect from the father?

Stepping into the library, Sam’s eyes were drawn to the man. John was tall and broad shouldered with salt-and-pepper hair, wavy not unlike his own, and he was younger than Sam expected. A man of power but still a human being, nothing more. 

John’s gaze was fixed outside the large windows on the harbor where the late afternoon sun was reflected off the water in tones of deep gold.

Dean flung himself down into one of the leather wing chairs, leg thrown over the arm of the chair, but Sam chose to remain standing until John turned around.

His hand held a whisky glass and the dark eyes behind it lit up. Sam expected that the man would be angry or gloating, certainly threatening, but John was none of these things. Instead he looked emotional, almost teary eyed, and it tilted Sam’s world. 

"Sit down, son. No need to stand." That low rumble of a voice posed the command as a suggestion, as if it were Sam’s choice. He sat in the matching leather chair but his bearing was stiff and formal compared to Dean’s casual slouch. John reached out and whacked Dean's knee with his free hand, signaling him to sit up, and the guy who was such a cocky bastard sucking Sam’s cock earlier now sat up like a chastised ten-year-old boy at Thanksgiving dinner. 

John settled himself on the edge of the big dark oak desk, placing his drink to the side and crossing his legs at the ankle. The studied nonchalance made Sam think of wary lions after a meal. They might be harmless in the moment but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. 

"So, I bet you don’t remember meeting me before."

"No, sir. Dean told me, but I don't remember. Guess I was too young at the time."

John nodded. "And I'm sure that Bobby didn't mention me either."

Sam shook his head. "Bobby never talked about you directly to me, but he and Rufus always had a few choice words about you and your organization. Samuel, too."

The older man's eyes narrowed at that, and Sam saw a glimpse of the kind of temper this man was famous for. John picked up the glass again and took a swallow of his drink before speaking.

"I've kept tabs on you, Sam, as you were growing up. You've done well for yourself with college and law school. You're a good kid with a bright future. How you ever survived in that house with Samuel I’ll never know."

Sam looked over at Dean, who was now sitting up, alert and cautious. John keeping tabs on Sam was odd. Sure, he was Samuel and Bobby’s heir but Sam knew that he wasn’t someone to hit their enemies radar, someone of less significance than his position implied. He didn't have anything to do with the day-to-day activities of Campbell business and was a quiet homebody who was more likely to be caught reading than clubbing. Not someone that John Winchester would be tracking.

"You know, one of the things I’ve always regretted is that Dean didn't have a brother growing up. It would have been good for him. Boys need to have support, someone to trust in, to confide in, besides their father.” John gave Dean a fond look before turning his eyes back to Sam. “Sounds like it would have been good for you, too. So, tell me, did Bobby or Samuel ever tell you about your father?"

Sam settled back into his chair. "Nothing. I tried to ask a few times, but it only made Samuel angry. Bobby said he would tell me when I was older."

"Yeah, well, Bobby was a bit of coward about that. And of course, your mother was dead. That’s the true heartbreak. She would have told you if she had been given the chance." 

A dark cloud of anger seemed to settle over John's face and its appearance was like a lightening rod for Sam's anxiety. Whatever it was his mother would or would not have told him was irrelevant. She wasn't here and it wasn't for this stranger or anyone else to share her secrets with Sam.

"Don't talk about my mom."

Sam pushed out of the chair and pulled himself up to his full 6'4" of height, and Dean mirrored Sam's actions, looking uncertainly between the two men before him. His father waved both of them down, with a smile.

"Son, have a seat. You need to hear this. Even if you don’t want to hear it from me. It’s time you heard the truth." 

“Stop calling me son.” Sam’s face was flushed, and his knees felt weak but there was no way he would stumble in front of this man, show his weakness, like a gazelle to the lion.

John reached out his hand and rested it on Sam's shoulder. The look on John’s face and the warm heavy weight of his hand made tears spring up in Sam’s eyes. He was torn between his anger, still honed sharp as a knife, and hearing whatever truth the man had to say. A third option popped up in his head - running out the door and away from all of this. Maybe he wouldn’t stop running until he got back to school in California, never to look back at the mess his life had become. In the end, Sam stubbornly kept standing and refused to say more.

John seemed to sense Sam’s debate and removed his hand, reluctantly giving him his space and going back to his seat on the desk. 

"I met your mother years ago, and I’ll tell you, Mary was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Your grandfather kept a tight rein on her while she was growing up, just like he did on you, so she didn’t get out much.” His smile broke warm across his face. “We met at a wedding of all things. She was a bridesmaid for an old college roommate who didn’t know squat about family allegiances. I was a friend of the groom, a good guy that just wanted me to get out and meet someone after Dean’s mom died. I mean, what are the odds, right? A Winchester and a Campbell? Mary and I got to talking about everything and nothing the rest of the night, and I was in love long before we figured out the next day what the situation was.”

John scooped up his whisky glass, draining it, and refused to look Sam in the eye as he continued. “Turns out that one night was enough. Later when we found out she was pregnant, neither of us reacted well. We wanted to be together but there was no way our families would agree. It took years for us to talk again and by then, my dad was gone and I was in control at last. Mary and I were finally getting things straightened out. She agreed to leave your grandfather’s house, for us to all be a family. For you and Dean to be brothers. And well, you know what happened to your mother.”

Sam felt sick. He had bits of memories with bags packed and stacked in the entryway, and Sam waiting with his stuffed bear beside them. Yelling between his mom and his grandfather that night had scared him and he hid in a coat closet until Bobby found him later.

Sam looked over at Dean, needing some kind of anchor in all this because he was lost now, the implications too big. Dean was no help, his face pale in shock. They were like two boats being hit out of nowhere by a tidal wave, carrying them roughly out towards deeper waters. 

He looked back over at John. "No. Please, don't say it." The words were a whisper out that fell out of Sam's lips and he collapsed into the chair once again.

"Sam, I know this is a big shock to you. But you need to know that I'm not the bad guy here. I tried with Mary, and I tried again with Bobby. I wanted you with me, with us. Now, with everything going on, you need to know that you're not alone in all of this, son."

"Stop calling me that,” he shouted. He looked back at Dean, who was rubbing a hand down his face. "And I wasn’t alone in this. Dean was with me last night, he kept me safe." 

“Exactly. You have a father and a brother who are here to stand by you”

His brother looked back at him, just as desperate and distressed as Sam. Oh yeah, his brother. Oh, fuck.

Shouting from the other room broke that chain of thought. He could hear Ellen's voice, getting louder, and then there was a crash before she appeared in the doorway of the library, one of the large bodyguards right behind her, grabbing for her arm.

"I'm sorry, sir, she wouldn't wait in the foyer as you requested."

Ellen looked at Sam, and just like when he was a child, she read him in an instance. Her face twisted in fury, as she shook off the meaty paw of the bodyguard. 

"John, what have you done?"

He smiled as if they were old friends. "Ellen, so good to see you after all these years. I'm sorry to hear about Bobby. Was just telling my boys the good news."

She moved towards Sam, and her face crumpled in sympathy. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I wanted to tell you especially after your mom died, but Bobby thought it best to keep quiet until you were older." 

Ellen moved to hug him but Sam stepped out of the way, still hurting from all the lies and dealing with the concept that he had a father now, and a brother. A brother he’d fucked. 

John slammed his palm on the top of the desk to get her attention again. “Ellen, this wasn't Bobby’s secret to keep. And not yours, either. This is my family. My boy. I should have been able to tell him that when he was little. I should have been able to bring him home with me after Mary died. Instead, my boys never got to know each other growing up. They were never there for each other.”

She tried to look away but John wasn't done. 

“Don't you see? I’m sorry Bobby is dead, I really am, but this could be a good thing. Now, the boys can stand together and rule this city. God, these two together would be unstoppable. There's not a single crew in this town that wouldn't get behind my boys."

Sam looked at Dean, searching his face for an answer to this mess, but there was no support there. His brother looked as traumatized as Sam felt. While John and Ellen continued to argue about when and why and how things fell apart in the past and how they might come together in the future, it felt like a seismic rupture was happening, causing a fissure to run down the middle of the room between Sam and Dean. Sam wanted to jump over it and grab Dean, get the hell out of here, but knew he couldn’t make the leap.

"I want to leave right now." Sam raised his voice, sounding more like someone who could lead the Campbell family (not Winchester), instead of the child he felt like in that moment.

John stood up again and Sam flinched away, and his father didn't approach any closer. 

"Take as much time as you need, Sam, but I'm going to insist that one of my men go with you. For protection." John snapped his fingers at the bodyguard who stepped in next to Sam..

"No. I want to go home, back to my place with my family. Not yours." 

Dean moved forward at this, as if to say something, but Sam gave him a small shake of his head. 

"I don't need your muscle. What I need is some time with all of this. I hope you respect that." 

John held his arms open wide as if embracing Sam's decision since he couldn't embrace his son. While he didn't really know his father yet, Sam could guess that John Winchester didn't take no for an answer. There would be people following him, keeping an eye out. His heart clenched at the idea of Dean being the one to follow him and keep an eye out. John would think there would be no one better than Sam’s older brother keeping an eye out for him. 

Ellen grabbed Sam’s hand and led him out back through the doorway with the Winchester bodyguards parting for them. As they approached the elevator, footsteps followed them across the hardwood floor.

"Sam... wait." 

Dean's eyes were wide and green, and everything else fell away for Sam, including the need to leave. All he wanted in the end was to connect with him, to touch him, but there were too many people. 

"After you've had some time to think, you call me to let me know what you decide."

Sam nodded at him and then moved to follow Ellen into the elevator before he would say something else. The metal doors shut on his view of Dean. Ellen squeezed Sam’s hand but he refused to look at her in the dark of the elevator, afraid that his wall would break. After all he had been through in the past day, he wasn’t going to cry. 

He needed to work it all out and find a way back to Dean. because that was the one good thing to come from all of this. The only thing that mattered in the end.


	6. Chapter 6

The brightness of the summer sun was unbearable, as Sam emerged from the dark, cool marble of the state courthouse. He shielded his eyes as he walked down the stone steps, searching for a familiar set of broad shoulders. A large group of reporters came running over, mics and notepads in hand, one of them balancing a video camera over his shoulder. As much as he wanted to find Dean and head right for the limo, Sam needed to make a statement.

There were plenty of lawyers in this city who were older or had more trial experience than Sam Winchester, but Sam was a media darling. Local news couldn't get enough of the eloquent and attractive young man looking sharp in his Armani suits. The fact that the most notorious criminal in the city had a clean-cut lawyer who’d never lost a case for a son made for great news copy.

It didn't hurt that he was one of John Winchester’s two sons. The reporters loved to play up a Cain-and-Abel tale of Dean’s violence and his role in their father’s criminal activities and Sam’s education and fight on the right side of the law. If only they really knew how in sync the two brothers were, how alike in so many ways, it would make for a completely different story.

It had been a tough road for Sam over the last four years, finishing law school and shedding his naive reluctance to be a part of the Winchester family business. His desire to be near Dean and to create a distance from the business led him to convince John that he could best serve the family as its public face. John thought it was brilliant, and the job gave Sam the independence he craved while removing him from the more unsavory aspects of being a Winchester. It also allowed him to protect Dean in the best possible way.

The first reporter shoved in front of him, mic held high, waving her cameraman up for the shot that would lead the evening news. "So, Sam, were you surprised by the verdict?"

Sam cleared his throat and smoothed down his tie, buttoning up his blue suit coat. "Not at all. We knew that their evidence was weak, and that my client was in the right. It was simply a matter of going through this whole farce by DA Henrikson, who continues to waste taxpayer money by trying to discredit my family. Our businesses are some of the biggest employers in this city, and we contribute so much to local charities. You would think he would find other, more deserving criminal targets to focus on."

"So, you think the DA has a vendetta against your family?" 

"Well, he doesn't like losing and this is his third strikeout against us."

Another reporter elbowed in. "How does it feel to defend family, Sam? What if you would have lost the case? That would make for some awkward family dinners."

Laughter bubbled up from the group on the steps, but then their cameras shifted focus on a point over Sam's shoulder. He turned to look back and appreciate the sight of his brother sauntering down the courthouse steps towards him. The grey tailored suit that Sam had picked out that morning looked good on Dean, his body muscular and firm underneath the expensive wool, and its color made the green of his eyes pop even from this distance. The whirls and clicks of the cameras went nuts around them, as reporters tried to get the money shot with both Winchester boys standing next to each other.

Dean walked up to Sam, so close that their shoulders bumped together. Two of the reporters in the front gave each other knowing smiles. Plenty of juicy rumors about exactly how close the Winchesters might be, but no one was able to prove anything yet.

"To answer your question, there is no way that I would have let my brother down, and no way I would have lost this case. Henrikson needs to know that nothing he can do will bring us down."

Sam waved off the other questions and took Dean by his elbow, escorting him down to the limo waiting at the curb and away from the crowd. His brother had a habit of shooting off his mouth before thinking, so Sam tried to limit his exposure to the media, protecting Dean from himself. 

As Sam looked back one last time, he could see DA Henrikson leaning against a granite column at the top of the courthouse steps. Henrikson didn't nod or even blink before turning back around and walking in the building. Sam had come up against a lot of prosecutors but Henrikson was different, a crusader who would continue to be a problem for the family.

Sam slid into the leather seat next to his brother and shut the car door, effectively sealing off the noise of the crowd and blocking the view inside with heavily tinted windows. 

"Got to say, I don't like being inside a courtroom, Sam, but seeing you in that suit is always worth it."

As Sam loosened his tie, Dean placed his hand on his brother's thigh, sliding his fingers up the smooth material and the muscle underneath. Sam stopped him and gave him a warning look. 

"Sam, c’mon. You worry too much. These windows are impossible to see through. You could give me the best blow job of my life right now and no one out there would know." 

Dean crooked up his eyebrow and turned to face Sam in the seat, but his brother didn't relinquish his hold on his wrist.

"Is John going to be at the apartment when we get there?" Sam still wasn't comfortable calling the man “Dad.” It also put some distance between the things he did with his brother every night.

"Dad’s gone for a few days, headed down to Philly. He knew this would turn out fine, and that you would kick some ass. Besides, Sam, the man may run a criminal empire but he has no idea what's going on at his own house."

Sam sighed and looked out the window at the reporters dispersing on the steps. "Forget the house tonight. Why don't we head over to the garage and grab a pizza? Get away from things and people for awhile.”

“Whatever you want, Sammy.”


End file.
